PADMAVATI ROW--Much Ado About Nothing

History and fantasy are a heady mix if the cocktail they brew is intoxicating enough. Why not take a sip and then decide?

Art is an expression of free-flowing ideas and creative imagination, unhindered and boundless, limited only by the law of the land. Why force it to tow the line each time, to please all, on mere conjectures and preconceived, ill-informed, beliefs? Why not celebrate the grandiosity depicted tastefully -- as evident from the visuals released so far? If past performance is any indication, Padmavati promises to be a feast for the eyes and the ears. Savour it as such! 

In any case, valour and vandalism are not each other's substitute and those who equate the two are masked cowards. No sane society should encourage such people. 

Pride and prejudices have been mankind's bane for a long now. Time to conquer them like a true warrior! That'll be the ultimate victory for civilization.

Newton- new age cinema

To be honest, I hadn't heard about the movie 'Newton' until last week. Someone recommended it and upon probing I found that it was a movie about a government clerk trying to run a free and fair election in a conflict area in central India.

The brief seemed singularly lacklustre.  Starcast was minus stars. What would it be like, I wondered? Political, trite, edgy, preachy and dark, sans the colour and razzle-dazzle I was clamouring for after a month of gruelling chock-a-block exam schedule of kids? Why not Judwa 2, a definite holiday bonanza, I asked my family but they unanimously voted for Newton and I went in with the least expectations. But as the story unfolded, the magic began. 

This low budget, offbeat movie with fine actors and riveting direction has proved that quality can never be the exclusive domain of showbiz's big guns. Devoid of razzmatazz, any gravity-defying action scenes (Isaac Newton would be happy) or romantic escapades, it shines beautifully on its own. The backdrop is Naxalite insurgency but the focus is on the dutiful, stern, living by the rule-book, election officer called Newton, enacted masterfully by Rajkumar Rao. Intense yet funny, it makes you don your thinking cap while enjoying your giggles. 

The apple has fallen. But it hasn't bitten the dust. The great scientist won't stir in his grave. 

FABULOUSLY FOOLISH! (IGNORANT IGNORAMUS OR DELIBERATE DUNCE?)

"Looking smart!" You lap up the comment with a glee unmatched even by the TV series of the same name.

Is it really so important to 'be' smart and more importantly, 'look' the part? It sets me rolling on a path to decipher the differences between the Smart Alecs and the Foolish Peters of this world. The Alecs have it good initially, the claps of schoolteachers and the laps of mummies, a generous salary, an indulgent boss, and a preening girlfriend. Then the pressures build up, the expectations skyrocket and the demands quadruple.

Contrary to popular opinion, it is not always wise to project yourself as smart and intelligent. The more capable you project yourself, the greater the onus to prove yourself worthy every single time and be a picture of sanity and sagacity forever. The challenge to maintain your gray matter in peak condition can be exceedingly taxing at times. Keeping yourself abreast with the changing winds and the meandering currents in the ocean of knowledge is no mean task!

It is in this context that the stress-free life of the fabulously foolish folks can be envied. They can be just themselves...normal, grounded, partially ignorant, funny at whim, openly inquisitive at times and completely imprudent at other times, rejecting the expected standards of intelligence. This elite group has members from all cross sections of society and cuts across the gender barrier. It can be anyone....an ordinary office or college goer, an average shopkeeper or a self-contained homemaker or a retiree.

Well! What are the perks of being Fabulously Foolish?

For one, you live life on your terms. You are carefree. You don't live to please people. You don't have to 'be' smart or 'act' smart all the time. Ignorance is bliss and who better to testify to this than our FF. You don't give opinions about issues not concerning you.You avoid trouble and confrontations. You are forgiven all misdeeds and faults because you are, after all ....'foolish' !!

Another category is of Smart Alecs pretending to be foolish to suit their purposes. They are the cunning and conniving foxes hiding under the garb of simplicity and faking foolishness for ulterior motives. They plot and plan their own games and if it backfires they feign innocence and pass the buck to their sweet foolish selves which erred unknowingly. Normally such tribes aren't taken seriously because the human mind is conditioned to be cautioned and challenged by intelligence and ingenuity but ignore and overlook the witless and fatuous lot. This tendency abets the nefarious mindset of wily folks.

In stark contrast to the Fake Foolish are the genuine ones, those lovable, trusting simpletons born with a silver spoon. They are fabulously rich and fabulously foolish too. They have a coterie of chamchas and Man Fridays around them. They thrive on sycophantic chatter and can be likened to the Emperor-with-no-clothes.

A lot of so-called intelligent crop has grown recently courtesy the blessings of Baba Internet. The homilies and sermons are coming our way at breakneck speed. Every Tom Dick and Harry is now a preacher teacher. It's easier to pass on knowledge especially when it's abundant and freely available. Jai Ho, Whatsapp! It is a breathless time catching up with the world buried under the information onslaught. There no time to pause or ponder. No urge to internalise. No knack to sift the sacred from the profane. Just playing carriers of 'passing the parcel' of borrowed knowledge (real or fake) and thriving on it, inadvertently giving rise to the faux news syndrome.

The challenge is to remain 'intelligently innocent' so that you retain rational mindset without having to surrender your soul's simplicity at devil's doorstep.

Lessons from History via a Poem by Kedarnath Singh

Kedarnath Singh (born 1934 AD) is a well-known Hindi writer and poet. He was awarded the 49th Jnanpith award for the year 2013. He is the 10th Hindi author to receive this prestigious award. 

One of his celebrated poems is shared below. I have tried to analyse it, interpret it, and draw my conclusions as per my understanding. Hoping that it resonates with fellow citizens.

सन् ४७ को याद करते हुए / केदारनाथ सिंह

तुम्हें नूर मियाँ की याद है केदारनाथ सिंह?
गेहुँए नूर मियाँ
ठिगने नूर मियाँ
रामगढ़ बाजार से सुरमा बेच कर
सबसे आखिर मे लौटने वाले नूर मियाँ
क्या तुम्हें कुछ भी याद है केदारनाथ सिंह?

तुम्हें याद है मदरसा?

इमली का पेड़

इमामबाड़ा

तुम्हे याद है शुरु से अखिर तक

उन्नीस का पहाड़ा

क्या तुम अपनी भूली हुई स्लेट पर

जोड़ घटा कर

यह निकाल सकते हो

कि एक दिन अचानक तुम्हारी बस्ती को छोड़कर

क्यों चले गए थे नूर मियाँ?

क्या तुम्हें पता है

इस समय वे कहाँ हैं

ढाका

या मुल्तान में?

क्या तुम बता सकते हो?

हर साल कितने पत्ते गिरते हैं पाकिस्तान में?

तुम चुप क्यों हो केदारनाथ सिंह?

क्या तुम्हारा गणित कमजोर है?

INTRODUCTION--

Experience the pain and pathos of partition of India in 1947, so palpable in the simple lines above.

Apparently, Noor Miyan (standing for a prototype Muslim) was poet Kedarnath Singh’s friend and/or neighbour in the pre-independence era. That was the time when Hindus and Muslims lived in harmony and cooperation.

Partition brought a lot of destruction and heartache in its wake, the tremors of which can still be felt. Families, neighbours, communities, all lost touch with each other and could only wonder about each other’s whereabouts. Those turbulent days rocked the peaceful boat for eternity.

The 1947 partition of the country into 2 distinct countries forced Noor Miyan to leave his job, his home, his family, friends, and life at Ramgarh, now a part of India and relocate to some district in the newly founded Pakistan.

ANALYSIS OF THE POEM--

Noor Miyan- Noor stands for Divine Light/Jyoti while Miyan refers to Islam. Noor Miyan living in RAMGARH, the abode of Hindu God, symbolises Islam living in the fort of Hinduism, in a small, subtle and inconspicuous way. Living peacefully, drawing its resources from the society, by trading ‘Soorma’ (used to beautify others) and working hard but quietly in the Hindu-dominated society, Noor Miyan represents a minority community and the integral part it played in the scheme of things.

On the other hand, the Hindu society was providing the physical and spiritual space (Madarsa, Imambara) to Muslims. The tamarind tree, providing cover to both Ram and Noor Miyan, alludes to the nondifferentiation by nature on the basis of caste or religion. Overall, it was a society where peaceful coexistence was present and nurtured. This tamarind tree is later contrasted with one across the border that we know nothing about. Basically, Noor Miyan is uprooted from the life he has known and banished to an unknown place to satisfy the cold, calculated split proposed by the politicians.

People who claimed to provide better destiny for all, applied mathematics and logic in the matter of partition. The north side of the land which was Hindu-dominated went to India; the south side which was Muslim-dominated went to Pakistan. The whole society was divided upon the parameter of logical reasoning, with complete disregard of the social-emotional bonds which had been holding it together for centuries.

The harmonious bond built over generations was snapped in one jolt. The poet laments if the religious harmony, social affiliations, mutual trust and cooperation which held Hindus and Muslims together for generations, are so fragile that they can be heartlessly divided by arithmetic calculations.

And can a small social, religious unit (Noor Miyan) be implanted in the same religious unit but different social, geographic habitat -Pakistan? What will happen to him? He knows nothing about this new place (does not know many leaves on the tree). Will he gain or lose? A more pertinent question: do we even care what happens to him or do we conveniently forget about people who were an indelible part of our shared history?

At the end of the poem, the poet exhorts his conscience, “tum chup kyun ho Kedarnath singh?” ..referring to the fact that he has no answer to the question plaguing those affected by the mass- disruption of partition.

He is anguished by the loss of his dear friend and tormented by his own helplessness.

The poet’s disgust and self- loathing is sarcasm-laden in the last line, “kya tumhari garit(maths) kamzor hai?” The poet is really not expecting an answer. It’s not arithmetic but the helplessness and inability of the common man to accept the complex divisive-politics, the solution to which is a mirage till date.

The loaded message is that you can't sever the intangible connections by employing arithmetic and that adding or subtracting to divide a country is not the right solution. Such deep message is conveyed in an everyday language by the poet, in very pithy lines.

CONCLUSION--

Hinduism, which radiated in the glory of other faith for centuries, lost its sheen when it took shelter in rationality and decided that Islam has no place within.

The ‘Noor’ of Hindustan, as a magnificent, pluralist, multi-religious, multi-faith, multi-sectarian society, gradually faded into oblivion while we were napping. 

The said poem may have been written in the partition era but it has tremendous contemporary relevance.

The bloodshed, displacement and the chaos that India suffered in the aftermath of its partition in 1947 still has lingering effects. The seed of enmity sowed therein germinated into a full blown rivalry with our erstwhile companion. It has been a divorce gone wrong. The price of alimony has been steep in the form of 2 full-scale wars and the recurring Kashmir conflict leading to massive loss of lives and property over the years.

Has it been worth it??

We may have advanced economically, technologically and scientifically but our mindsets are still archaic and thought-processes bound by shackles of caste, religion and the accompanying disparities which hinder our blooming into a forward-looking, progressive nation with liberal values and ethos.

The ‘idea’ of India as a secular nation, promoted by Nehru-Gandhi-Patel after its independence, had given the country a semblance of order and stability. Unfortunately, the concept of ‘Unity in diversity’ is being threatened again and the same divisive-politics, with its proven counterproductive results, are being practiced unabashedly.
The Sad part is, the gullible ‘junta’ is playing cheerleaders while India dances dangerously to the tunes of our conniving politicians and their machinations.

Mr. Kedarnath Singh, ‘hamari garit kamzor hi nikli’, for our forefathers made a grave miscalculation some 70 years back. While it may be juvenile to seek a historical correction,it would be prudent to cut our losses and strive to stride towards the halcyon era of tolerance and compassion. Afterall, these twin virtues were the cornerstone of the country we claim to love dearly!

PET NAME PEEVES

What's in a name? A lot, apparently!

Babloo, Bunty, Pappu, Chintu, Sweety, Gudda, Guddi, Lovely, Baby, Pinky, Chinki, Chhotu, Sonu, Monu ... are just a few examples of the popular pet names that are lovingly bestowed by Indian parents to their offsprings in childhood, the reasons being many.

 Firstly, in India, the newborns aren't given names immediately in the hospital (as is the western norm) but only after an elaborate 'namkaran' ceremony. 
Then, there's the almighty tussle between the grandparents, parents, and hordes of aunts and uncles over a suitable name for the precious newborn. Picking and choosing one name that'll be acceptable to all requires management skills which will put top managers to shame.

Naturally, till such time an official name is given to the child,(which may take months or even years), he/she needs an identity. Enter that sugary, syrupy pet name which seems tailor made for that roly-poly, adorable, cute little infant. He soon starts responding to it and it sticks to him like the thumb that he keeps sucking in his childhood.
Even after the child getting a suitable official name, the elders in a typical Indian family refrain from using it. 

Sometimes, it is to protect the sanctity or exclusivity ("there are terrible 'naam-chors' lurking in the families looking for unique names"); other times, it may be too difficult to roll off the tongue. 

Whatever the case maybe, pet names are easier on the tongue, less stressful to remember and despite their commonality (every family has at least a couple of these), the pet names last lifelong much to the chagrin of the owner of these not-so-exclusive names.

Imagine a 30-year-old adult being introduced in a family function as Mr. Gupta's Babloo. The poor guy seethes inside, itching to reveal his official name but the extended family is least interested in it.

"Hi, I am Shashwat Misra, Mr NK Misra's son". Blank looks meet you. You are then compelled to prod the clueless audience, Remember, Sweetu?? Oh yes, of course, "toh aise batao na!!" Hugs and warm handshakes welcome Sweetu into the fold where Shashwat was a persona non grata!

"Chutki, Idhar aana", Mrs. Khatri calls out to her daughter, eager to introduce her to a bunch of prospective mothers-in-law. Imagine the eye-popping reactions when a 5 feet 8 inches tall, gangly girl strides in with a fierce expression. She, of course, hates her pet name but has to respond to it because her mother has all but forgotten her formal name.

A female relative of mine started insisting that we call her son by his official name, Sarthak instead of the hitherto used 'Gappu' after his marriage for it won't look appropriate in front of his wife and in-laws. We were all amused and a tad irritated by her supercilious facade but went along with the directive. Imagine my dismay when after all the ceremonies were over, she asks my husband to join for a group photograph, "Arre Bunty, idhar aao!" Grrrrr....I was incensed at the hypocrisy but my husband outsmarted her by saying, "I will only sit next to Gappu's wife". Needless to say, she went 50 shades of red while we chuckled at the fiasco.

Mind you, these pet names last a lifetime. I have met a 60-year-old Mr. Khan being referred to as Chote miyan by his gracious 78-year-old mom, Bubbles. She proudly parades her bubbly self and rotund 'Chote miyan' giving two hoots to the sniggering community. And, 'Baby' Mausi will be referred as such notwithstanding the fact that she is now a grandmother!

Hindi film industry has bulky, teddy bear like Kapoors with the cutest pet names- Dabboo, Chintu etc with the former's daughters being called Lolo, Bebo (Karisma and Kareena for the uninitiated). Govinda has a weird Chichi name while Hrithik is Duggu. How comfortable they are with their pet names is debatable and dubious. 

Life's tough for the pet names' victims. They grin and bear the atrocious name tags which do nothing to define their uniqueness or distinct personalities. It's as if they are a product of mass production, branded and labelled as per the flavour of the month. 

Pet names sound cute in childhood but outlive their utility thereafter. 
Unfortunately, they can't be done away with and the only way to survive them is by not responding to them after a certain age. People and family will gradually and grudgingly learn to remember the formal name. 

No such guarantees for mothers though, who will be hooked to her Guddu and Sonu lifelong, propriety be damned!

INSPIRATIONAL MOTHERS

Mothers everywhere are special. Indian mothers are renowned for their selfless sacrifices, devotion, and loyalty towards their families. They live their lives for their families whose happiness is paramount to them.  

An average Indian middle-class (nothing average about her worth) housewife plays a pivotal role in bringing up an entire generation with different aspirations and goals. She plays the cook, the washer, the nurse, the teacher, the guide, the sounding board, the agony aunt for her entire life.

If she's a homemaker, then all her waking moments are for the welfare of her family and if she's having a job outside the house, she's doubly challenged to manage both with supreme efficiency.

 I tried finding one particular mother (apart from my own deceased mother) whom I could dedicate this article to but failed to single out just one individual as my inspiration or role model of motherhood. 

I find myself surrounded by umpteen number of strong, tenacious, spirited women of lower, middle and upper strata of Indian society who are no longer content being the sacrificial lambs or devoted slaves. They are finding their grooves and learning the ropes to handle both - their familes as well as individual growth.

Happy mums are the best and women are gradually rediscovering their worth and saying no to any kind of bullying, abuse, bias, or nonsense. This newfound self-confidence of Indian women is inspirational in itself. 

 My maids, representing the socially and economically backward class of society, are inspirational mothers too. They are practically illiterates but slog day in and out to give a decent education to their children. They don't want their kids to grow up as house-helps, rather want them to get educated and find a decent job. One of the maid's daughters has passed highschool and takes tutions while pursuing higher education. They are proud kids and do not suffer from any inferiority complex. I salute the vision of these mothers who push their children to reach higher goals in life.

A neighbour of mine, Mrs Sinha died last month at the age of 82. She had become a widow just 7 years after marriage and inherited the responsibility of raising 3 kids single-handedly. Rather than wallowing in self pity, she did her post graduation, took up a teaching job and was a strong, self-dependant mother. She ensured that all her kids got well settled in life but even in her old age she chose to stay in her house and not with any of her children. She gave them love, support and wings to fly out of the nest guilt-free. No wonder the kids and their spouses held her in the highest esteem. She inspired others around her with her strong willpower and fighting spirit.

I find women achievers who manage both home and office efficiently, highly inspirational.

I find the selflessness of the homemakers who give their hundred percent to their home, hubby and kids all through their lives highly inspirational.

 I find mothers who push their children towards excellence highly inspirational. Simultaneously I also find mums who let their children be themselves and make their own choices in life, very inspirational. 

For I believe that there can be no custom-made category for 'Inspirational Mothers'. Each mother has certain special qualities in her which are unique to her, her situation in life and which define her role as a mother. 

I find the average Indian mother scaling new heights in recent times and striving to achieve excellence for herself and her children. They are pushing boundaries and learning to be self-motivated. There's a still a long way to go till the mothers get their just desserts but atleast the walk has begun!! And that in itself is so inspiring.

SARKAR-3

 
Brooding was never so stylised before. Amitabh as Subhash Nagre, 'Sarkar' for the masses, carries the trilogy forward in his inimitable style. There's tension, darkness and edginess to the drama. Much of the Sarkar legacy is carried forward with new characters thrown in. There's a heavy reliance on body language. Minimal dialogues, taut postures and nuanced facial expressions speak louder than words, adding to the gravitas. 

The story line can literally be told in a line or two.
Sarkar's aura is in jeopardy due to his ever spiralling band of enemies, desperate to dislodge him from his exalted position. His trusted lieutenant, Ronit Roy and grandson, Amit Sadh work at cross-purposes and form a maze of intrigues and machinations. 

However, there's not much suspense in the second half where the plot is a dead giveaway, with the grandson presumably joining the bad guys to finish his grandfather and the latter too vowing to finish off the last of his lineage! Like, seriously RGV? 

Another jarring fixation which realistic cinema's flagbearers have, is with the lighting or the absence of it infact. Whether it's a cost cutting measure or some mistaken belief that 'dark is dangerous', almost half the movie, daytime scenes included, are shot in absolute dark. You peer hard to make out the characters present in a particular scene. Somebody please shed some light on this style of direction!! 

The highlight ofcourse is the Ganesh-vandana sung beautifully by AB in his robust baritone and picturised graphically by the deft juxtaposition of religious fervour, criminal intent, rivalry, loyalty and deceit.

 The hard-hitting Govinda chant and the background music enhance the proceedings esp that slurping sound of the tea, drunk from a ceramic plate, in the last scene. It spelled satisfaction and triumph. As per Sarkar's taste! It was his cup of tea afterall, blended and brewed to perfection. 

I recommend the movie to die-hard AB fans looking for an engrossing cinematic dalliance this weekend.
Enjoy your cuppa!